


Justice Prevails

by Whuffie



Category: Dragon Age II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:27:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whuffie/pseuds/Whuffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hawke kills Anders, Justice is left seeking a new host to survive outside the Fade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Defira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/gifts).



_“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the darkness at Tannhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.”_

Rutger Hauer in _Blade Runner_

It had to be personal.  
  
The sparrow would prove she had the ferocity and talons of a Hawke.  The silly nickname her father had given her when she was a little girl had become less appropriate than the family surname in the dark hours when the remainder of chantry and other structures were falling.  The initial screams of terror had faded to panic, the thunder of feet on stone, and lamentation.   Sparrow’s shoulder flinched, but nothing reached eyes which were chips of jade beneath her soot smeared, ginger hair.  The buildings around crumbled, flinging debris from the initial explosion, making her wonder how many people were inside the Chantry beside Elthina? Even at that late hour, there were surely people who had fled there in hope of coming together with their faith in the Maker to pray.  Brothers and sisters would have been there with Grand Cleric, and possibly even Tranquil mages were all lucky if they were killed in the first conflagaration.  The rest would never be found, and their ends wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant as they died from broken bones, injury or slow suffocation while buried alive.  
  
Anders had betrayed Sparrow and everyone else with his lies and madness.  He and the demon leeched to his soul had poisoned everything he touched the past eight years, and with a cold blink, Sparrow assessed the situation around her.  Sebastian was raving with grief, and Fenris was cool with barely restrained violence as the lyrium pulsed through his skin.  Aveline could only be described as grim, and Merrill was lost between shock and sad comprehension.  Sparrow had never trusted the elven Blood Mage much more than she had Anders, but at least their Abomination had his uses up until he had shown what he really was.  Meredith’s ranting as she and Orsino screamed at one another became monosyllabic nonsense in Sparrow’s ears as she pulled the knife out of her belt.  
  
“…perhaps this way Justice can finally be free,” Anders uttered miserably, slumping over on his crate.  The warm brown eyes which had pleaded and smiled with Sparrow for years stared down at the flagstones.  
  
Sparrow hoped that the thing inside the mage died with him after what the two of them had done, or there was no such thing as “justice” in Kirkwall, Thedas, the Fade, or anywhere else.  Cullen was the only templar whose attention was riveted to Hawke, and she nodded to both he and Sebastian.  Anders might not deserve an expedient death for what he’d wrought, but he got it when she put her hand onto his forehead and cut his throat in a clean, killing stroke.  “May the Maker have mercy on you, Abomination, because you’ll get none here.”

She made it personal.  
  
Justice felt the cold, cutting slice of the knife and hot spill of blood as Anders collapsed to the cold ground.  _Anders?_ the spirit called out tentatively, and tried to rally him to use magic to heal himself.  The potent, throbbing, yellow light which drove the mage’s life was fading into a dark, icy place which even spirits did not understand.  They did not know where death lead the human soul, and until Kristoff, he hadn’t given it a half moment of consideration.  Reality threw the spirit into something close to panic.  Anders!  
  
 _So sorry, my friend.  I hope this… frees… you… Frees… mages…_  
  
The final, fleeting thoughts seeped from Anders’ dying mind as blackness closed over him, and life ebbed like the last leaf to fall in coming winter.  _Anders!_ Justice mentally shouted at him, trying to keep him one with the mortal body, but the wound was fast and fatal.  Together with what was left of Anders, he felt himself lifting from the mortal shell, but the Baroness’ spell had put an impenetrable barrier between Justice and the Fade.  For a moment, the unfettered spirit screamed silently, reaching toward his barricaded homeland, trying to escape back to a place where everything was orderly, precise, and he had a clear purpose which never conflicted with what was obviously just.  Unable to return, it appeared that he, too, would dissipate into non existence without someone to anchor him in the mortal world.  Justice had been entwined so deeply with Anders that he knew both sorrow and fear.  As a spirit, there would be no more to his journey, he was certain, and everything which he had seen, experienced, or known would be lost like tears falling in the rain.  
  
For a moment, he was resigned to his fate as Anders had been.  Ready to slip away into ethereal nothingness, he was given pause by a mortal mind and heart which pulled at him.  In spite of the many, many accusations over the past eight years, Justice was not a demon.  He despised everything they stood for to the point he broke free of Anders if he had to in order to use all power at both their command to battle them.  To move into a human host without invitation was an atrocity, but the mortal was ill.  Justice could feel it, either by residue of Anders’ healing abilities left imprinted on him or because his existence was seeping away.  The tremors in the man’s hands had begun to concern him, particularly when healing magic and herbal remedies were failing.  He attributed it to one of the hazards of the strain to his warrior’s body or some other influence.  It was deeper than that.  Justice could feel the source, and knew he could mend it if the human would allow him.  Once, the decision would have been more difficult.  When transferring from Kristoff, Justice had needed to be coaxed, but the hot, thriving pulse of mortal life called to him so strongly that the spirit was nearly pulled inside the warrior in spite of himself.  His desperation to survive without slipping into a void of non existence bade him to follow a fine line which was gently humming to him, and he landed solidly inside another human male body.  
  
The shock and difference of the minds threw Justice into a reeling spin as he saw the scene of chaos with a pained mortal heart.  Everything inside the mind was orderly and prioritized in a way which Justice approved of.  Emotions were still up at the surface, but even more than Kristoff had been, the man was a soldier with well repressed pain in his past.  Justice silently stopped the disease which would eventually debilitate his new host, but the softest traces of a Song were residual in the man’s blood.  It was not like a mage, and he did not have the connection to the Fade where they drew magic.  This was something different, and the heavy armor which hung from his shoulders was not a new sensation.  Kristoff had been a warrior, too, but the markings on the breastplate … Justice could not see properly, and time became a muddled confusion of sights, sounds, and thoughts.  It was as different from fire or ice from Anders, that the spirit fell into a near coma of depression.  
  
Somewhere, he was aware of the new body lifting a sword and standing for what was just.  The pleasing action stirred Justice as the two of them held a sword, unwavering, against the madwoman Knight Commander Meredith.  
  
“Then you’ll have to come through me,” Cullen stated, and with cool authority, relieved Meredith from her station among the templars.  He blamed the recent shaking of his hands on his lyrium consumption and thought nothing of it, but was grateful his blade stayed steady.  If it was his last act in life, he would not allow any more harm to come to the people who he was sworn to protect.  Backing up as his former Knight Commander waved the vibrating red sword at everyone, she shrieked about Cullen being taken by blood mages.  No one had the slightest concept how close to a version of the truth she was.  
  
Justice briefly surged up to the surface, but Cullen didn’t notice his passenger, attributing the sense of dispensing justice to his duty to protect mages, not torture and butcher them for the actions of a man who had already paid for his crimes.  He blinked, and the faintest touch of blue which shown beneath his eyelids was gone so quickly even Hawke never noticed it.  Together, he and Justice fought beside Hawke, Nathaniel, and the city guard until Meredith’s mad tyranny finally ended.  
  
Justice curled in on himself, lost, confused, and uncertain when the Knight-Captain bent knee to Hawke and all the other templars followed suit.  What had he done?  The mortal was not like Anders, and Justice was seeing an entirely different side of what had happened.  He and Anders had been so sure, but now…?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen leads the templars who did not follow Meredith's last orders for anullment to round up the surviving mages.

Cullen swiped his sweat, blood, and soot stained face with the heel of his glove. The boy laying in front of him was still breathing, but emaciated. There was no way of knowing if he had succumbed to demons or not, but if he did not live through the night they would never know. Cullen remembered when Ethan had first come to the Circle, and the Knight-Captain obtained permission from Meredith to take him to Chantry services. Afterward, because the young mage had sat so still while listening to the Chant, Cullen had bought him a bag of marbles and sat on a crate in a corner of the Courtyard where the flagstones had come loose and there was enough dirt to draw a circle and play. Templars and other mages were the only family many of the would know, and while Cullen firmly believed mages needed to be kept housed where they could be watched because of the danger they posed to the public, to torture them was unconscionable. He’d hoped that helping them know the Maker might keep them safer from the influences of demons. Now, four years later, the child weighed less than he had for the game of marbles. He was pallid from being locked up without sunlight, and for a moment, the templar felt an anger jag up inside of him, cutting as sharp as nails. It was an injustice so foul… Shaking off the notion because Cullen didn’t argue it, he picked up the bundle of stick bones and baggy robe. “Maker forgive us for ever letting this happen,” he whispered with bile pooled at the back of his throat. “I’m getting you away from here, Ethan,” he promised, scanning the inert body for any possible signs of corruption. How did he abruptly know there was no demon within the boy? No templar could tell from the outside, but there was absolute conviction in his mind that Ethan was untainted.

Cullen recalled deprivation of food, water, and the effects of torture too well, but he knew the boy had been strong enough to prevail against temptation just as he’d know Abigail had not, moments before. They had to strike the thing the young woman had become down, but something had rolled over inside of him with such certain outrage that he’d known she was possessed before her frail body had mutated. Rubbing his tired eyes with the fingertips of his stiff leather gloves, he soothed what he attributed as the strain of the day with bad memories butting against each other. Templars were trained to know the ways of demons, and the Veil was ripped as badly in Kirkwall as it had been in Kinloch Hold when Audrie had pulled him from that despicable cage made by Uldred.

“I knew you’d finally come,” Ethan croaked as Cullen handed him to one of the few living mages. Their First Enchanter was dead, and nearly all the Senior Enchanters with him. The elderly who hadn’t been able to run from Meredith’s initial mad purge, along with almost anyone who wasn’t locked up in their quarters, had been cut down. A few may have escaped, and Cullen wasn’t going to bother trying to hunt them. If the Maker deemed to let them run free, they’d kill any maleficar who were loose later. The survivors needed to be taken care of first, and he passed Ethan over to Bethany. “Take him, he’s…”

Justice was as positive there was no influence of the loathed, infernal creatures influencing the boy as any mortal would have been of night from day. He nudged the information through the tentative blending he had with the Knight-Captain. “He hasn’t succumbed to the whispering of the demons. He stayed strong,” Cullen finished.

Had the Circle been functional, Ethan would have gone through his Harrowing within a few years, and Cullen managed a smile on his weary, soot smeared face. “Hawke and the others will help you, now. You’re going to be alright.” He spared a precious moment to put his hand on the mage’s head and turned to what was left of his templars.

Some of them had defied his command, abandoning his orders because they had been favored of Meredith and were the worst examples of that a Templar should have been. If it meant putting himself bodily between them and further injustice to the mages he would do the same as he had with the dead Knight-Commander. There was a heat coming from somewhere through his gut which made taking such an action even more necessary than before, but they were all suffering shock and raw emotions to sort through after the crisis.

“Wherever are we going to take all of them?” Bethany asked as Cullen kicked in another door of the Gallows. Neither had time for more than turning his head to one side in remorse for the mage who had managed to rip his own robes apart and hang himself.

“I don’t know.” They couldn’t be left in the former Circle, and as secure as it was, it was currently a death trap. Demons were clawing through everywhere anyone turned around. Until the mages could be reassembled enough to start cleansing and mending the Veil, they needed a sanctuary. The presence of the demons was making Cullen far more edgy than it should have been, and he assumed he was in the exhausted stages where his body would demand lyrium. “Most of them can’t travel well enough to go to another Circle, and the nearest one is hundreds, if not thousands of miles away.”

Sebastian helped get some fluid into Ethan by tipping a water skin to the youth’s lips as templars proceeded to ram doors open, combing for survivors. Normally, Cullen would have suggested taking the refugees to the Chantry, but a grim anger seethed with the hollow, desolate knowledge the once holy place was a ruin. He also saw no reason in opening fresh wounds with Sebastian, who had been a regular face in prayer and services, so the templar kept his tongue.

“We’ll take them to our estate in Hightown.” Sparrow grabbed Cullen by the pauldron to get him to focus on her. The dark circles under his eyes were worse than normal, but who could blame any of them? She was sure she looked no better. “Assuming the entire city isn’t overrun the way it is down here, we can at least get everyone to safety.”

Their home had been a haven for smugglers before she had reclaimed it, so assuming the walls hadn’t caved in, she could put up the remaining mages and templars. It wouldn’t be roomy, but it would be a place for them to go. The Chantry’s destruction was going to have everyone in an uproar, and no one would know what had happened at first. The news would spread rapidly, and Cullen could foresee panic. They had no Viscount to lead the city, and with Meredith dead, no one specific to hold it together except Hawke. Templars had a sacred duty to keep the common people from storming innocent mages in mobs and killing them. The city wouldn’t be safe for any of them for very long no matter if it was right or wrong.

Justice would have recoiled from himself if possible, seeing everything from another perspective. He had not wanted to endanger the mortal mages. He had wanted to free them from the tyranny of people like this very man who he now inhabited. Had Knight-Captain Cullen not once suggested it was better to Tranquil a Harrowed mage as a mercy rather than killing them for being a maleficar? Cullen did not understand the horror of that, Justice now realized, because he was not a mage. Had he been, he might not have been so rash, and Cullen’s hatred of malificar was both deeply tragic and just. Anders was certain the act on the Chantry was the correct thing to do. It would force action, and Cullen knew as surely as the mage that it would work. Where was justice? Where was vengeance? They changed the face of the world but would his actions be just in the end or something else? Without Anders merged as part of him, Justice flailed helplessly, painfully lost. For nine years, he and the mage had bled into one another so closely that they didn’t know one from the other. They were a single entity, or so they had both told themselves. Had that been completely true, Anders would have harbored no need to repress him, and Justice would not have been able to surface in times of duress to protect them. If Cullen would allow it, Justice could help him tremendously in his fight against demons and maleficar. The time within Kristoff had taught him how to harness his spiritual energies of the Fade for non mages and protect them from hostile magic in many ways. Would Cullen let him do something similar? Justice was fearful he would think they were an abomination, and not be pleased by the arrangement. The spirit remained as quiet as possible until he could decide.

“Is your estate defensible?” Cullen asked Hawke, oblivious to the spirit. The mage in the cubical in front of them was in shock, with her arms wrapped around her legs, staring into space blankly as she rocked back and forth. Again, he knew there was no demon attached to her. Varric and the mages coaxed her to her feet so she could get out. “I think she’s the last.”

“It was a smuggler hideout for awhile,” Sparrow answered as she watched with greatsword drawn for the appearance of more demons, “so I would say so.”

Coughing against his forearm, Cullen turned around to the few templars who were left, recovering from their shock as ash fell in an oily veil on their helmets. “We have to get these mages to Hightown. Keran.” He’d once held the templar recruit under dire scrutiny for being held prisoner by maleficar, not so differently than Cullen had, himself. There was no longer any question in his mind that Hawke had spoken the truth about his being free of demonic influence, and the razor logical side of Cullen wondered how, again, he was so positive. “You and these five,” he selected a small group of Templars, “are with Hawke and her companions. See that these mages,” he singled out the youngest and those in the worst condition, “are taken there safely and their needs are tended to.”

“Yes Knight-Commander,” the younger man wavered and lifted his chest to prove his worth as a true templar. He had been ready to follow Cullen stood for the Order over Meredith’s demand for annulling the Circle.

“Knight-Cap–“ Cullen bit off the rest of his own title, because it would be up to the Chantry to bestow or remove his rank. For the moment, it was a pointless waste to argue such a semantic, and he sent them efficiently on their way.

Fenris was grumbling loudly, arguing with Merrill about mages, but Sparrow managed to settle things before she asked Cullen, “and what are you going to do?”

“We have to strengthen the Veil to keep more demons from breaking through. The Champion and Bethany will lead the way. You can all rest once we finish,” he told the bedraggled mages through a bout of hoarse coughing, “but I need your help.” How could he have the knowledge of what he was talking about? It was clear, clean, straight lines in his mind. Greagoir had sent him away for recovery from Kinloch Hold when they had originally purged the Tower. Yet, he knew with unprecedented certainty what they would have to do. The images were brilliant and crystalline inside his mind. Had he read it somewhere? Perhaps before Uldred’s revolt, Torrin or one of the other mages who he played chess with had discussed it in practical application. Cullen had always enjoyed discussion of magic, the workings, and everything from philosophy, dragon husbandry, to medicinal gardening. The templar was an intelligent, thoughtful, and well read individual who thrived by sorting things into neat, mental patterns. He also had a tendency to be able to recall any written page in a book nearly word per word, even weeks after he had read it. That odd ability for recollection was the only reason he could imagine that he would have retained knowledge on how to help sew up the Veil.

At least one of the mages knew the principals as well, and was wearily instructing the others. “We’ll hold the demons who try and break through,” he promised seriously, and Justice continued to delicately sweep a spirit’s understanding of the Veil, coupled with what he’d learned from Anders, into Cullen’s consciousness. With a grim nod, they lead the templars they’d chosen to stay with him while the mages began the work to keep demons from slipping into the world uninvited.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany, Hawke and Justice work on putting the pieces back together and putting the surviving mages somewhere safe.

Bodahn took the invasion as Sparrow had expected he would, and she went upstairs with Bethany after they’d passed the dwarf.  The elder sister stared at the heavy iron key for several seconds, rolling the cold weight into her palm and back several times.  With resolve, she reminded herself that she feared nothing, and jabbed it fiercely into the keyhole as if it had offended her.  
  
“This was mother’s room, wasn’t it?” Bethany asked her softly, and spared a smile for Aveline as the other woman pulled heavy curtains shut to keep the neighbors from prying.  
  
“Yes.”  Sparrow had always been closer to Carver than she had Bethany, as much as he groused constantly about everything.  She and her little brother were the most alike, and Bethany’s sweetness and lilac disposition grated on her nerves even more than Carver’s constant need to assert himself as being useful in the family.  She loved them both, but Bethany’s magic set her apart, the same way as it always had with father.  Sparrow cared for them no less, but she missed both Carver and Mother every day with keening pain.  Both had been taken too early, but Carver more tragically.  
  
Turning the key, she pushed the door open, and schooled her expression.  “Yes, it was.  We’re packed wall to wall, even after Aveline and the others go home.”  Fenris, she knew, would be staying.  Her lover would never trust an estate flooded with mages, and Sparrow was grateful.  She didn’t trust any of them any more than Fenris did, in spite of the templars who had come along.  “With everything so full, Mother would want you to use the space.”  It was true, and Sparrow could think of it no other way, because it would have been just like Mother to throw the doors open personally, had she still been alive.  “I’ll let some of the others use my room, and you and I can sleep in here.”  
  
Sparrow always felt out of place inside that specific room, even when her parent lived.  The eldest Hawke was still suited in heavy, stained, scarred armor and rattling with weapons.  Leandra’s space was not pretentious.  She’d been a simple woman on a farm for too many years, but it had the blush of femininity.  Hawke’s bedroom decor always favored straight lines and blocky colors.  Intricate knot pattern tapestries which reminded her of home were the most frills she could tolerate, but their mother had liked small touches of ribbons or lace.  It was hard to ignore that Mother and Bethany were more alike in small ways that Sparrow had ever thought.  Bethany looked almost at home as she sadly picked up their mother’s silver handled hair brush and held it in her hand.  It was one of the few lavish gifts Father had ever been able to afford to give her, and she’d brushed both girls’ hair with it while growing up.  
  
Had they a better relationship, Sparrow might have asked her sister what she planned to do about the Circle, and the future.  Instead, she awkwardly took a breath and squared her chin.  “We should go check on the others, and make sure everyone is as comfortable as we can make them.”  
  
“Yes,” Bethany agreed softly, forcing a tiny smile as she soundlessly set the brush back on the dresser.  “Let’s go do that.”  
  
By the time Cullen, the last templars, and the cluster of careworn mages were cautiously escorted through the doors, the last living heirs to the Hawke legacy had the others settled into rooms.  Justice dimly remembered the estate, but it had been difficult to see through Anders’ eyes.  They had seldom, if ever, been welcome there, and spent most of their time in the hidden clinic. Sergeant, the family mabari, flopped down in front of a roaring fire, and quiet voices leaked from hushed corners and rooms everywhere.  Cullen had never been within the walls, and yet, he knew where all the rooms were, and what the furniture looked like.  Fatigue was playing tricks with his mind, and the templar firmly put it aside, rolling one of his shoulders where the burns from a rage demon had heated his armor so ferociously the metal itself had seared into his skin.  One of the mages healed it to the best of their ability, but he had been very fortunate.  The burns themselves were nothing in comparison to how fatal they could have been.  Cullen did not realize Justice had been able to protect him from the brunt, curbing aside the hostile, magical attack by pulling them partially into the Fade.  
  
“You’re hurt.”  Bethany picked up the filthy hem of her robes as she met Cullen.  “Did you succeed?”  
  
Cullen rolled his shoulder once he put his shield onto his back.  “I’ll be alright,” he answered her kindly through his weariness.  “The demons won’t be able to come through any more, but there are others who need treatment more than I do.”  Justice remembered her.  Varric called her “Sunshine” and he had thought it appropriate, but Cullen knew her as well or better than Anders had.  They’d been living together for many years in the Gallows, and in spite of how cruel it had been to tear her away from her family initially, Cullen had done what he was able to make the transition to Circle life more bearable.  He’d always made certain her letters made it out to Hawke and the rest of the family, and protected her from the worst predation.  
  
Only after he checked on Ethan, was told the boy had held down some broth, and seen both mages and his surviving templars had places to sleep did Cullen finally allow Sparrow to lead him downstairs.  “We weren’t exactly expecting so many, but there’s enough food to last us for a few days, at least.  Come downstairs and eat something, Knight-Captain.  You’re going to need your strength.”  
  
Neither Cullen nor Justice could argue, as the spirit had learned the demands of a living body with Anders.  A bowl of something steaming, creamy, and which smelled of sage was thrust into his hands, and the bone weary templar collapsed in a chair next to the mabari. A true Ferelden, Cullen loved dogs, and he stroked the top of Sarge’s head.  “So you’re the one who kept visiting me in the Gallows.”  The very first day he’s been assigned to his new post, a mabari had ambled in and panicked Orsino by trying to lick his face.  Cullen had been mortified that he would seem unprofessional in front of his new superior, and looked down upon because he was coming from the same place as the masses fleeing the Blight.  Greagoir had sent him away for his mental stability, but he had never wanted to come to Kirkwall on the assumptions he was a charity case.  When he’d seen Sarge about to gleefully acquaint the older elf in fine canine tradition, Cullen had caught him around the barrel.  
  
Meredith had commended him for his quick thinking, and Orsino had taken it with good grace.  
The hound was grey muzzled and the skin around his neck wasn’t as tight as those days, but he’d started coming to visit Cullen regularly.  Lonely for home but refusing to let it show through his professional demeanor, the templar was always grateful for the company.  On many occasions, he shared a bite of food saved from his plate at meals.  
  
Sparrow knew the dog didn’t spend all his time indoors, but had no idea he had a scheduled round with templars.  It would have amused her under different circumstances, but it was not the time to feel anything like levity.  A sheaf of papers on the mantle caught her eye, and she picked it up, trying to distract her mind with trivial things for a few moments.  Large problems were looming just outside the door, and would have to be faced soon enough.  The scrawled handwriting was familiar, and anger went through her like a reverberating gong.  Furious, she threw the entire packet into the fire, and cut her eyes toward Cullen as he looked up.  “It’s nothing,” she lied as the fire consumed a copy of Anders’ manifesto in blackening curls of parchment.  How could she ever have known he would have done something so heinous and extreme?  He helped people in Darktown for so many years…  Rubbing her temples with her fingertips, she found a chair and sat down across from the templar. “He visited you?” she changed the subject back to the dog.  
  
Cullen nodded, eating methodically without tasting the dumplings until Bethany joined them, insisting on at least looking at his injuries.  There had been another mage who had cared about him, once, and Justice gratefully lost himself with in the memory because the face was eerily familiar. It was the Warden Commander, and Cullen had a complex, odd set of emotions which shuffled around her.  They had known each other when they were younger, being very different people.  He had loved her, or thought he had, for all that it was forbidden.  Demons and blood mages had exploited his infatuation so brutally that the affection soured into hate which later made him lash out against her.  She’d come to rescue him when Greagoir gave up, and in spite of the cool understanding it was necessary to sacrifice your men under extreme conditions, Cullen had never fully forgiven his superior.  Audrie had been the one who pulled him from Uldred’s cage, killing the abomination, and he’d thought she was another vision spat up to torment him.   
  
Audrie.  She was Justice’s friend as well as Cullen’s, and in spite of the harsh words during the templar’s rescue, there was residual care and gratitude.  The Commander had been also always been good to Justice, and the fact both of them knew her made the traumatic transition easier for the spirit.  
  
Bethany reminded Cullen of Audrie in small ways, because they were both healers and shared  compassion.  The similarities ended there, however, and Audrie had become something very different under the wing of the Wardens.  She’d saved them all, but unlike the way it had been in Kinloch Hold, Cullen never allowed himself to truly befriend a mages after her.  Justice saw the barriers the man had erected, thrown into place because of the way blood mages had done to him.  His concern that it could be any mage who turned against him could not be soothed as it would with Justice helping him.  There was little he could do but threaten from his side of the fade while a demon spat at him, but they always recognized each other.  One spirit knew another, and if a malificar had a demon lurking at their shoulder, Justice could alert his host.  
  
When Bethany persisted that Cullen’s physical well being be tended, he finished his dumplings and unbuckled his armor, shedding the top half down to braise and undertunic.  He was not going to take all his clothing off in front of Hawke or her sister.  One might be a healer, the other the Champion, but they were both women.  Lifting one arm so that Bethany could hike his stained tunic up enough to look at the swollen purple and red patterns slathered all over his shield arm and shoulder was also difficult without more aggravation.  “A poultice will take care of most of it, or it can heal naturally.  Don’t expend your mana too far.”  They already knew, as any apprentice did, how dangerous it was for them to deplete their mana.  New mages had been known to die from it, and Bethany was under extreme circumstances to help as many as she could.  
  
“I’ll stay in Kirkwall, at least for awhile,” Sparrow sighed as she folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the wall, going back to the larger problems.  They couldn’t be ignored, but she was a warrior.  She charged at things headlong, never hiding from them.  She was probably the worst thing for the city, but someone was going to have to do something.  That was the story of her life.  “I once told Varric I thought about going into politics, but I was joking.  I didn’t think it would happen like this.  I’ve got to try and do something about this.”  People might hold her responsible, but Maker knew she had as little to do with Anders as possible.  The hours following would tell, but she’d have to try to clean up the mess.  “What about you?  The Circle is going to need leadership.”  
  
“Whatever happens,” Justice flared up with Cullen in spite of themselves, stumbling into common ground, “they are not annulling the Circle of Kirkwall.  The templar duty is to observe and protect.  These people,” for once he did not use the term ‘mages’ and recognized them as individuals, “haven’t done anything wrong.  They’ve been tortured by the very people who should have been protecting them, and I’ll not fail in my duty to them again.  The Chantry and superiors have to appoint a Knight-Commander, but until then, I’m the highest in rank.  I’ll lead the templars of Kirkwall.”  
  
Bethany looked at Cullen oddly, and blinked, feeling something almost like the Fade resonate for half a second.  Taking some ointment from a jar, she sparingly rubbed it into the worst of his burns.  “You’re right,” she agreed softly, “you are too, Sister.  Kirkwall is going to need both of you to get through this, but you didn’t fail,” she insisted softly lifting his elbow to get to reddened skin.  “Meredith’s crimes were her own.”  
  
That did not mollify either Cullen or Justice, but they didn’t argue with her.  Tomorrow would come another day, and even before the sun, they would have to begin picking up the pieces from the catastrophe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While within Cullen, Justice learns why the templar was having nightmares and confronts a demon.

“I will be comfortable here, Knight-Captain,” a female elf with a telling tattoo centered on her forehead informed Cullen in expressionless monotone. The Tranquil hadn’t been marked visibly in Ferelden, but their “brand” hadn’t saved many in the Gallows. In the initial frenzy of butchery called by Meredith, it hadn’t mattered they could not possibly be a threat. Some of them were so complacent they hadn’t enough fear to flee for their own lives and died in the early onslaught. Very few had been herded out to safely by friends or circumstance allowed them to be overlooked in a corridor, chamber, or forgotten area of the Gallows. Demons couldn’t harass them, but cold steel ended all lives equally.

“You can’t sleep sitting up in a chair.” It would probably do no good to argue with her, and Cullen couldn’t recall her name. She must have been assigned to another area of the Gallows and seldom crossed his path, because he had a good head for remembering faces. “Lie down,” he commanded, and she obediently followed his orders because they had been conditioned to since the moment of their Rite. He took the chair cushion, telling her to lift her head, and put it under her. There was a shortage of blankets, but someone had left her a winter cloak. Laying that over her, he made certain she wouldn’t catch a chill.

“Thank you. That is most agreeable.” Without inflection, she might or might not have actually believed that, but like all those docile mages severed from the Fade, it was doubtful she had any actual feelings in one direction or another.

“Try and sleep.” The other mages in the room were staring at Cullen warily, and one pair were holding to each other in battered, sweaty, ash stained robes for comfort. They clutched together, trying to stop the soft, wracking sobs which were the sound of someone with their world ripped from under them. “You’re safe here,” he told them all softly in a sincere voice, recognizing a reflection of his own pain. It was smothered, and controllable. This was not the first catastrophe he had survived where he’d lost friends and a home, but he hoped it would be the last. “No one is going to hurt you.” That included him, but they had every reason to despise the templars after what they’d gone through. How could he expect differently, and it would take time to earn their trust again.

“Will we have to go back to the Gallows?”

Turning toward the whisper, Cullen picked out Jacob’s pale face with the start of a beard coming in under terrified brown eyes. “No.” The old slave quarters were originally secure from escapes. He’d admired that fact in the beginning, but it would be haunted. Greagoir had sent him away from Kinloch Hold for a reason, and ghosts weren’t always physical manifestations. “No, you won’t. The Circle will have to be rebuilt somewhere else.”

“Good. I don’t want to go back to that horrible place.” Even as exhausted another of them was, he stared at Cullen as defiantly as he dared, folding his arms across his thin chest. “I won’t go back.”

At least one of them still had a spark left, and Cullen nodded slowly, walking over to crouch on his heels to be eye level with the frightened mage. “You won’t have to.” He glanced over his shoulder, not succumbing to the pull of pain from burns, “you are strong enough to resist the demons, and Hawke’s doors open for anyone.” Turning seriously back to the defiant young man, Cullen rubbed his hand across rough stubble, noting a raw scrape on his jaw. Helmets always made him claustrophobic, but there were times he rued not wearing one.

“We all know the mage who murdered Elthina and destroyed the Chantry wasn’t part of the Circle. He’s also dead, but the people are going to be quick to blame anyone who has magic. If you run now, you’re going to be in far more danger than you were when the templars chasing you to bring you back to the Circle.” He didn’t tell them to frighten them into submission, but kept it as a brutal, cold fact. “You all have power, and most of you have never had to push it to its full extent until today. It’s possible that you could survive on your own, but the Circle was our home. I’m here to make sure you don’t have to protect yourselves against a mob who would punish you for what one person did tonight.”

“And what if they kill you?” Jacob mumbled, staring up at him with eyes still so wet they were glassy.

Standing up, Cullen walked over and knelt next to him on one knee, draping his arm across scorched armor encasing his thigh. “Then the other templars will take my place, and if they’re all killed in their duty, you defend yourselves.”

With the numbers stuffed into Hawke’s home, he knew they couldn’t keep anyone from running who was determined. At least one would surely leave, and they hadn’t the manpower to send templars with phylacterys in hand. They had to know that as well as he did, but the fear he expressed for any mage who was outside wasn’t fabricated. There were Tranquil and a few Harrowed mages who were allowed to stay in Hightown to barter wares for the sake of the Circle, and he hoped they were smart enough to retreat into hiding before mobs started to form with the single minded intention of destruction. Fear did things, and turned them into people who didn’t recognize each other. The demons would cavort through the hysteria if they could, and he prayed to the Maker that Hawke had the influence to bring the city under some sort of control with the coming morning. All he could do for the mages in that room was to leave them with something serious to think about and do his own version of damage containment. If they left the fold, they had to be responsible for themselves. In a perfect world which wasn’t freshly seeded with paranoia and ignited with an act of shocking, senseless murder, some of them might survive for awhile. It was not a perfect world. Kirkwall had weathered the Qunari, but nothing like the calamity Anders had left behind.

“Think about it,” Cullen told them as he stood up to leave the room, “please,” he added with uncharacteristic humility. He had never considered himself to be an arrogant man, in spite of being stubborn. He preferred to think of it as the strong willed tenacity which helped him survive Uldred, but his parents would have stuck to stubborn.

He finally allowed himself to retreat to his room and drop onto a blanket and pillow spread out onto the floor once he was certain everyone else, templar or mage, had a place. He thanked Hawke profusely before she and her sister retired to their room, then let his armor slip from his fingers in the corner of the room he was sharing with Keran and Geoffrey. The templar recruit stirred and turned in Cullen’s direction, but the mage was getting into his middle years. With the constant expulsion of mana, stress of battle, and shock at being nearly annulled for good behavior, the older man deserved the oblivion of sleep for a few hours. How Audrie had managed to survive an entire year on her own in the midst of Blighted country infected with boils of darkspawn had always been a mystery to Cullen. The Circle didn’t teach their mages how to exist in the outside world because they expected most of them wouldn’t ever need to know how to push a plow, hoe potatoes, or put up a shelter from the elements. Cullen himself had to be trained how to live from the land by Knight-Hunters on the rare occasion he was included into the part of a group who had to bring apostates back to the Circle, and even he had never been particularly skilled at it. When Audrie returned to rescue him, he barely knew her. Not only had she survived, but she’d thrived, and Ferelden would have been lost without her and King Alistair.

Keran obediently sat up to offer the bed, ready to take the floor instead, but Cullen shook his head firmly. “Rest,” he mouthed and whispered, “I’ll be fine.” To make his point even clearer, he lowered himself to his knees on the ground and grabbed the corner of the blanket. Wrapped up in it, he put his head on the previously decorative pillow which smelled of mabari, and cleared his mind with self disciplined practice. All the events of the previous day would have crowded in to rob him of sleep had he allowed it. Elthina was dead. Some of the men and women who he had worked with as close as a family were buried under a mountain of rubble. Others had abandoned him because he refused to carry through Meredith’s order of Annulment. It was possible they would be going to higher authority and he would be hunted as a traitor. Hawke would do what she could in the higher echelons of the city, but Cullen had his own duties until he knew where his actions stood in the eyes of the Chantry.

Twice an abomination had destroyed his home and the people who had been important to him.

Justice cringed back with indignation at being considered part of an abomination when the notions played sharp and vivid in Cullen’s mind. Because they were merged, Justice could not have ignored what was being thought or felt any more than he would have in Kristoff’s body when someone was leaning into his face and screaming. It did not bode well, because they were already bonded together, and Justice wanted to help this mortal to find the same justices which they would gladly dispense. Unlike Anders, Cullen was pragmatic rather than angry, and focused himself on righting things which were done unjustly in the name of his own Order. His weary mind categorized things analytically, putting them in their mental places where he could bring them out to tackle or manage them as required. Being a mage, Anders also had a strong hold on his will, but Cullen was very different, relying on meditation, prayer, and keeping things around him as neat as possible. On understanding there was work soon to be done, he knew his body was worn down, therefore needed rest to recharge itself. After a few deep breaths, he relaxed into sleep.

It was unlike Kristoff. They had never slumbered because the body was dead, and different from Anders who was aware of himself in the Fade while he dreamed. Cullen had no such connections, so Justice had slightly more freedom than expected. When Cullen’s mind drifted away into the Fade for dreams, Justice had more of a sense of himself as being uniquely apart from his host. Had he been intrusive, he might have been able to walk on his own power while Cullen was completely unaware, but that was a demon’s way. Instead, he took advantage of not being as perfectly blended as he had been with Anders. Like looking through a window pane, the spirit could almost wistfully observe the mortal mind’s passage into the place which Justice had once called his home. Cullen was prone to nightmares about his experiences in Kinloch Hold, and Justice saw some of them replay. It haunted the templar, but he’d done better when he was away at a Chantry after the Blight was finished, recovering from his ordeal. Prayer, meditation, and a simple life in animal husbandry had allowed Cullen to go beyond the experiences which ground powdered glass into his soul. Eventually, he was functional enough for return to active duty and given an assignment in the Free Marches. When in Kirkwall, the nightmares had become more frequent and took more clarity, but Cullen never connected the obvious reason to why they were stronger in certain places. If they were too sharp, he would wake, spend a quarter hour in prayer, then return to sleep. It had become a ritual over the years of living in Kirkwall, but the spirit immediately learned the cause which the templar had always overlooked when it manifested. While under torture in Kinloch Hold, there had been demons and Abominations, but one in particular had made it a point to break the young man. It called itself Misery, and it had followed him wherever the Veil was weak, toying with his dreams in hope of getting a foothold in the mortal world by feeding on repressed needs. She was lurking close enough for Justice to see her.

“ _You will not have him!_ ” Justice thundered with such loud defiance that blue light shimmered beneath Cullen’s closed lashes in his sleep and he turned over onto his back with a light snore.

The demon slunk insidiously in their direction from the weakened barriers of the Fade, mincing forward on clawed hind feet as she surveyed spirit and host from the opposite side of the waking world, tilting her pert lips with self indulgent amusement. Misery and Justice were separated the same as she and Cullen were, being in different worlds. Justice seethed to known there had been long, infernally toying games for Misery as she teased the templar with memories both real and twisted, whispering in his ear that she would make all the pain he relived to stop if only he would give in to her. She had been playing with him for years.

She alternated between different tactics. One moment she promised to spare the mages or templars Cullen was forced to watch as they were violated body and soul in Ferelden. Another she would offer to cease the torture inflicted on either himself or his friends. “Well,” she purred lazily, passing a clawed hand over her breast as she pondered Justice like a cat staring at pigeons. “This is new.”

If Justice could help Cullen in no other way, he would end the whispers of the demon. No being — mage, beast, human, elf, or otherwise could house more than one spirit, and Justice resided within Cullen until human death. Roaring at the demon, he made his proclamation for once and all time. “You will torment this mortal no longer!” For the first time since he’d been dragged into Kristoff’s body, Justice felt like himself, as he had at the gates of the Baroness mockery of an estate where she kept the trapped souls of the humans. “He is mine and you will not send him the foul dreams again! He is under my just protection!”

Misery’s horned head tilted, sending flits of pink flame rolling to the tip of her skull as she tapped a finger claw against her bottom lip. “Perhaps. We shall see.” Either beaten or bored, she retreated, but Justice remained vigilantly protective of Cullen until he woke four hours later with sunrise. The Knight-Captain might never accept their merge, but Justice would do what was just.

He would protect the mortal.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Focusing on Cullen and Justice rather than Hawke, this chapter explores more about the merge between templar and spirit. It also explores some of the possible, personal situations which might have happened a month after the Chantry explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Gore description ahead which might make some people uncomfortable.

It was over a month before Jacob, the mage who had insisted he would never be hauled back to the Gallows, was brought to the door of Hawke’s estate.  The concerned citizens made certain to return his head and hands in a crate, both of which had been sawed off raggedly which they could hope was done after death rather than as part of it.  The skull was missing eyes and tongue.  His murderers explained with righteous impudence that the mutilation  was to make certain no spells could be cast on the decent folk as he died.  One slapped a meaty fist into the palm of his hand as his face flushed with pleasure, and loudly proclaimed the common people would have no mages running around among the real people of Kirkwall after what one did to Grand Cleric Elthina.  Cullen’s response came in the form of a hard line creasing his mouth and a professionally cold stare.  With a word, he made Bethany get the youngest mages away from the door so they weren’t exposed to anything worse than what they’d already glimpsed.   
  
There was a subtle threat in the delivery, as well, and the newly appointed Knight-Commander recognized it.  Uncharacteristic anger flared through his gut, but he would have a word with Hawke in hope it would reach ears which would be able to do something about it.  Hawke was doing what she could in the political structure of the city, but she wasn’t able to be much more than a voice.  A new Vicount had been appointed, and wasn’t as approachable toward the Champion of Kirkwall as the last.  On the day of the murder, Avaline’s city guard were not far away to take the mob leaders into custody and establish order before they besieged the estate, so Cullen had been fortunate on that particular day, Maker be praised.  If he had his way, the killers would pay for their crime in a way which Cullen was incapable of dispensing because he was slanted.  Justice was not completely calmed by the uncertainty of his new mortal’s confidence that the innocent mage’s blood would be paid for in full.  They needed more secure, permanent accommodations for the mages the way they had been in Kinloch Hold.  
  
In his own way, Cullen mourned yet another loss of one of the mages which the templars had failed to protect, and worried about rumors.  They whispered about about Knight-Hunters which were not attached to the Kirkwall Circle but were Chantry sanctioned.  They weren’t collecting mages they found, but killing them immediately for their supposed crime of being outside the Circle.  Cullen, Keran, and Gwen had been ranging out through the city to search the places near where some mages sold clothing, poultices, or other things for the public to help fill the Circle coffers.  The knights shuffled home when the sun was highest over the city, and sponged sweat off their brows when they entered the cooler, shaded exterior of the estate.  They’d returned with empty hands, but there hadn’t been another death.  He also wanted the templar presence to be noticed around the city, and scratched Sarge behind the ears when he padded to greet them, sniffing at boots.  
  
“There’s someone where to see you, Serrah Cullen,” Bodahn informed him, and showed him into a small sitting room they’d managed to temporarily clear of everyone but Bethany.  A woman in fine silk clothes clutched a seven year old boy next to her hip, and Cullen had a suspicion he knew what their visit was about in the grim face of the father.  
  
“I’m Knight-Commander Cullen.  What can I do for you?”  The child thrust his fingers into his mouth as he shrank back from the templar armor, so no surprise came from the next admission issued from the father.  
  
“There are signs that our boy, Bramwell, might be showing…”  The corners of his mouth pursed to hide something, “magic.  Some of his sister’s toys have been exploding, but thankfully no one has been hurt, yet.”  
  
Cullen could have smiled with a memory had he allowed himself.  Audrie once blew up fish on him, and he’d never been able to tolerate eating it after that.  It had been Senior Enchanter Laslen’s little act of defiance to haul decomposing fish out of Lake Calenhad for the apprentices to practice Walking Bomb.  If the templars hadn’t been warned by their fellows in the Order or experience, they ended up sluiced with rotten fish guts.  Audrie helped him scrub his armor for two hours to get it clean, but neither of them had minded the company, then, except for the abominable smell.  
  
“For me, it was accidentally freezing my brother’s boots to the floor,” Bethany confided to all of them, helping diffuse the tension by making accidental magic sound as normal as scraped knees to other children.  “He was very upset with me, and nailed my braid to the headboard of my bed the next day.”  
  
“After what’s happened,” Bramwell’s mother tightly directed at Cullen after nodding curtly at Bethany.  The fierce protectiveness of a mother bear dared him to come near her child, “you can understand we’re concerned about our son’s well being.”  
  
“And our own,” the husband stated bitterly.  “Our neighbors are sure to ask questions if Bramwell vanishes, and what do we tell them?  If they find out he’s a mage, should we worry they’ll attack us next?”  
  
They hadn’t the room, but Cullen had a peculiar certainty he shouldn’t suggest breaking the family apart.  They were correct in their concerns for safety.  It wasn’t just to take the children away from their families, and a fragment of a memory which wasn’t his bobbed on the back of his mind.  Eleven years old, his mother was screaming as cold iron shackles cut into his narrow wrists, and they were so heavy he could barely lift his arms.  His mother was crying something and thrust a pillow into his hands.  Templars who were so tall then went on like monoliths of fearsome nightmares into the sky drug him away, oblivious to his pleading.  Bruises dug in where cold metal gauntlets pinched savagely, but he was too grown up to cry.  He was practically a man, but that self argument finally couldn’t stop him.  Why were they taking him away from his mother to a strange place he didn’t want to go to?  Why were they shoving and hurting him?  The harder he cried, the more abusive the templars got, telling him to stop sniveling.  One backhanded him, when he couldn’t stop hiccupping or halt his nose running.  It irritated the man, and there was a taste of blood on the inside of his Cullen’s cheek where pain exploded as he was hit harder, shocking him into temporary silence.  
  
Ticking his head to one side, the Knight-Commander closed his eyes firmly and after opening them, pretended to be contemplating as he paced toward the inert fireplace.  He had joined the templars because he had wanted to, and his parents made him wait several years to be certain it wasn’t a boyish fantasy.  None of them had drug him away, and Cullen was never an overly imaginative man to have come up with such an elaborate fantasy.  The image was so vivid, but it didn’t belong to him.  Where was it coming from?  He didn’t recognize either the man or woman in the false memory, but knew they were parents.  His parents, but it wasn’t possible when they were living on a horse farm at Waking Sea.  Schooling his mind back into rigorous order, he’d examine the oddity later, and nodded once.  “You don’t have to leave your son if you don’t want to, but he needs training.  His abilities, if they aren’t controlled, will get dangerous both to himself and your family.”  A flash of a barn burning down intruded, and Justice scrabbled to keep the merged memories he had from being part of Anders from leaking over into Cullen.  
  
“There are other mages here who can teach him to safely use his,” the word felt alien and comfortable at the same time, which it should not have, “gifts.”  
  
“I thought templars took all mages away,” the mother snapped more shrilly than she’d intended, and rubbed Bramwell’s back protectively.  
  
“Not right now.”  Meeting her eyes then the husband’s, Cullen drove his point home.  “Right now, we’ll find a way so you can stay with him or visit him.  We don’t have a lot of room here, and the Champion has been kind enough to allow us to stay.”  They had a few vacancies with Andrew and the others who fled with him.  Two of the five were dead.  The other three weren’t accounted for, and he could only hope to the Maker they didn’t come back in boxes.  Cullen and most of the mages were used to gregarious societies, but he doubted Bramwell’s family would be as interested in sharing a room.  If they could get a private one, meals and the established patterns of life would be very different.  To stay with their son, they’d have to adapt to it, but he was willing to allow them to try for a sense of fair justice.  It would make things less lonely for Bramwell.  Isolating a mage in solitary confinement was cruel beyond measure, and he had spent a year counting the stones in the floor, the ceiling, the bars, waiting for the taunting of the demons and for Misery to…  Cullen dug his fingertips into his eyelids, blocking another intrusive figment which couldn’t belong to him.  Bethany noticed, biting the corner of her bottom lip.  He knew how to interpret her sidelong look, but Bramwell’s family hadn’t known anything was out of the ordinary.  “It’s not going to be what you’re used to, but until you feel safe enough to go back to your home, you can stay here.  Move Andrea in with Gwen, and Geoff back with Keran and I,” he told one of the Tranquil, “that will leave room for Bramwell and our guests.”  
  
The mother visibly relaxed, and Cullen introduced himself to the boy by crouching down on his level.  “Welcome to the Circle,” he told Bramwell solemnly.  “There are other mages here who would like to meet you, would you like that?  This is Bethany, and she’ll be one of the people who teaches you.”  
  
“I’ll show you around,” Bethany offered all three of them cheerfully, and Cullen was left alone in contemplation of the dead fire for awhile, wondering at many of the things which had been changing in his life since the death of Elthina.  There were already stories from other Circles, and of the Chantry trying to maintain order.  There had been an episode with one of his templars breaking down into the first signs of lyrium withdrawl, and fear the Chantry would stop recognizing their Circle as being legitimate.  So far, they had kept Kirkwall in their fold, but he suspected the other templars hunting the city wanted to be sure any apostate would be made an example of.  
  
Cullen himself hadn’t taken a dose of lyrium since he had lived in the Gallows, and should have crumbled into withdrawl, himself, days after moving to Hightown.  He’d gone through all the stages while in torture, until one of the malificar gave it to him so he’d be lucid enough to watch what was going on around him.  Passing the gateway to madness for lyrium would have removed part of their “fun.”  He should have been well into it again, but he hadn’t a single symptom.  No one quit lyrium once they’d taken it with their rites, and he folded his arms over each other.  Laying them on the mantle, he propped his chin on the tip of his thumb.  It wasn’t like him not to notice Bethany when she rejoined him, standing at the other end of the and mimicking his pose.  
  
Laying her cheek against the furry cuff of her robe, she studied him with hazel eyes.  “That wasn’t like anything the Circle would normally have done?”  
  
“Meredith nearly destroyed the Circle.  I took you away from your mother and sister, and you were eighteen.  Would you have rather stayed?”  He was irrationally angry at himself for it when he hadn’t been when he’d done it nor thought about it since.  It was unjust, and he’s been preoccupied with what was and wasn’t justice since the day everything had changed.  It was beginning to nag at him.  
  
“It meant not having to put my family into danger while they were trying to hide me, and not being responsible for us constantly having to move.  I enjoyed teaching the children, although of course I missed Mother and Sparrow.”  Cullen had tried to console her when Gamlen sent the letter informing her of Leandra’s death, and Bethany started to consider himself more of a friend over jailer after that.  “I don’t know how that’s all going to work out, but they love him the way my mother and father did.”  Not all mages were so lucky.  “I’m sure it will only do him good to let his family stay around him.”  Tentatively, she moved a half step closer to the Knight-Commander.  “Do you think there are others here in Kirkwall who might want to see their children, brothers, or sisters?  Does Ethan have any family?”  
  
Cullen rifled through his memory but drew only a blank about their backgrounds.  “I don’t know.  You should ask them, and see if we can at least arrange for more correspondence.  Once order is brought and people aren’t as afraid, we might be able to arrange for visitations.”  If they were pious, they might all attend services together for the Chant.  He hoped that wasn’t being too optimistic for the city.  
  
“Cullen,” Bethany broached carefully, “you seem … different, lately.  Are you alright?”  
  
With a crisp nod, he stood at full attention, squaring his shoulders and cutting the conversation off.  Mages and templars could work together, but he kept all of them at arms length for good cause.  Being too close to one had flung open windows in his soul to torture, once.  “I’m fine.  We should find out what other magic Bramwell is manifesting, if any, and what his strengths are going to be.”  
  
Bethany recognized a dismissal when it was given but smiled at the Knight-Commander before she left.  Striding out the door behind her, Cullen was stopped midstep by Bodahn as he almost ran into the dwarf.  “Excuse me, Serrah, but there’s a letter come for you.”  He placed it into the templar’s hands before bustling away for a household letter.  
  
Justice recognized the handwriting with a tug of familiarity and longing which overlapped with a fondness within Cullen.  When he broke the seal, Cullen skipped to the signature, and his first impression was confirmed.  Audrie Amell.  The hero of Ferelden had written to him back, breaking the silence after many years.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice begins to take a more forceful role within Cullen's body, and they contact Warden Commander Amell.

Secluding himself was not easy, but as the Knight-Commander, Hawke gave him part of a room with a desk so Cullen could answer correspondences without constant interruptions.  Bramwell’s family was adapting to having a mage in their midst as well as he could expect, and discussing going back home, coming to visit their son frequently.  Assuming the threat of mob revolt settled, Cullen promised them he would allow the boy an escort to go home for visits, but Kirkwall had to gradually trust the templars to the extent they were whipping themselves into a killing frenzy at the mention of mages.  There weren’t many of the others who had family which accepted them, but a few of the established mages had visitors once the doors opened.  The activity helped Cullen remain focused on his duty, priorities, and the comforts of a rigorous schedule which his life fell into.  For two weeks he woke, prayed, went through his templar training exercises, dealt with the obligations of his office, said his evening prayers, slept, and repeated the cycle.  Justice found as much comfort in the ritual as the templar, having appreciation for order.  The mortal world was a place of chaos, confusion, and things could seldom be predicted, even with his years of practice.  Residing next to Cullen was relatively peaceful, but it did nothing to curb the sensation of mourning which the spirit had learned from losing Anders.  Once he manifested as a single thought, desire, and driving force, but Justice began to transform the moment he was abducted onto the human side of the Veil.  It had opened the opportunity for he and Audrie to defeat the Pride abomination, but it had also made him into something new.  In the initial stages of shock, he had gripped the opportunity for justice like the hilt of a sword and used it appropriately.  It had worked, but the memories coming from Kristoff’s dead body had seeped into him.  The transition into Anders had been jarring with the bitter, angry passion which drowned both of them in the injustice done to mages.  Justice had no comprehension of how bright mortal ambitions and passions could burn, and both of them had been consumed in the conflagration for best or worst.  Not only was the merge less seamless with a mortal who was not a mage, but the Knight-Commander was slightly more easy to cope with an orderly thought process for a mortal mind.  His emotions were also contained, often pushed down under an analytical strain of thought, which allowed Justice to remain more a visitor than part of the man who he inhabited.  He could protect Cullen from the whispers of demons in his sleep, and if he could eventually reach the templar, they would be able to throw bursts of spiritual energy, straddling the fade in protection against hostile magic.  Thus far, he had not been successful.  
  
The invasive memories which had been lapping at his brain like waves against a shore pricked Cullen, bringing up images of feverishly writing copies of a manifesto intended for the freedom of mages.  Occasionally, the Knight-Commander caught a ghost of pulling power from the fade and bending it to his will.  Familiar faces from another perspective flitted like phantoms, connected to inappropriate reactions to them.  There was a woman, and he vividly remembered carnal activities which they were doing together in the rain.  It was enough to make him flush with the details, and would have chalked it up to a fantasy from his long dead adolescent daydreams had it not been so sharp.  He was married to her in the vision, and could almost recall her name with mourning because he had died without ever being able to tell her where or why.  
  
Sitting with rigid control into a chair, the templar rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, blocking the oddity with tenacious force.  The only reasons he could imagine for his corroding grip on reality were unusual lyrium withdrawl symptoms.  It was available if required, so he would take a dose as soon as he had replied to the letter from Audrie.  Scanning over it again, he dipped his quill into an inkwell, and unrolled a leaf of parchment.  
  
Cullen had faced his pride, foolishness, and the costs of the infatuation of a naive boy when they were stripped away brutally by Uldred’s followers.  Audrie had rescued him, and he was not far from breaking, no matter how boldly or angrily he lashed out.  Faith in the Maker had sustained him for days, weeks, months… His grasp on time crumpled until he hadn’t known exactly how long it had been.  He’d thought her another cruel game when he’d first seen her through the haze of the prison which caged him with the rotting body of his best friend.  Never had he seen her so furious, trembling and pale with it.  Knuckles blanched white around her staff and her voice had waivered with tightly wound, barely suppressed rage.  Contemptuously, he’d mistaken her words, and spat back at her with his injured pride to say he’d once thought the Circle was too hard on her.  The pang in her eyes was satisfying then, when she blinked hard several times, then found her anger again, taking hold of it to sustain her.  She coldly promised him that she would free him and kill Uldred, but would hear nothing of his pleas to completely annul the Circle to keep dormant demons from escaping in the bodies of mages.  
  
A fondness for her crept up into his smile which he was unaware stemmed from Justice as much as it did himself.  Instead of shunning him for his harsh words, she’d rescued him.  Months later, while recovering and contemplating his sins, he understood her better.  What had made her so outraged had been how she’d found him, her friend, and she’d only wanted to protect him.  She’d always been determined, talented, and compassionate at the Tower, so it didn’t surprise him she was brave enough to save Ferelden.  Justice missed her, and while Anders had those around him who might have called themselves friends, Justice himself had very few.  All of them had been when he inhabited Kristoff’s body.  Anders was always closest, but there were others.  Nathaniel, Sigrun, Oghren, Velanna, and of course there was the Commander.  She had been a mage, so had a special curiosity and fondness for him.  Of all of them, it was Anders and the Commander who understood him best.  Anders was gone, and the reminder of the frailty to humans made the lost denizen of the fade melancholy to think he might not see any of the others again.  Wardens had even shorter lives than most mortals because of their Taint.  
  
Cullen penned a response to Audrie in neat, precise rows of letters.  She had confirmed some of his worst fears, and said unrest was already starting to spread through the Circles.  There was a storm on the horizon, starting at Kirkwall, and Maker only knew where it was going to stop.  If the Hero of Ferelden wanted to ask his advice and possibly help him, he wouldn’t deign a hand offered in friendship.  It would be good to see her again, and if he found himself smiling a little more broadly than he normally would have at the thought, he dismissed it as an opportunity to reunite with an old friend from the past.  
  
She’d given him a gift once, something of his very own when he had no possessions, not even a body…  Cullen dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, and took a firm, steadying breath.  It was clearly time for lyrium again, and he strode with single minded purpose to the cabinet where he kept their supply under lock and key.  It was not pure enough for Justice to hear the singing which had once come from his ring, but not quite the same as the mages used, either.  Taking out a packet of the pale blue dust which had been already prepared for the templars, Cullen tore the top off and tapped it under his tongue.  The powder was absorbed immediately into his body, and he prepared for the momentary rush of pleasure which were a few seconds of pure euphoria.  It left behind a faint, earthy smell of mushrooms and painted the room in pleasingly odd colors for a few seconds as it took effect.  It was a delightful sensation, but one which left him very briefly vulnerable.  
  
Justice had ingested lyrium many times with Anders, needing it to boost his mana and allow him to pursue more spell casting.  It flowed into him like cool comfort, leaving a bitter aftertaste in the wake of a honey alcohol flavor.  With Cullen, it was different, and the addictive poison struck through their mortal body with a foolishly numbing moment of bliss, then black tendrils curled their way through, breaking down tender places in his mind and body which would eventually erode down beyond repair.  Justice recoiled, then decided to take matters into his own hands for the good of the mortal’s physical well being.  He could not be allowed to hurt himself due to unjust restrictions placed on him by the Chantry.  
  
Justice ominously shoved forcefully to forefront, causing Cullen to partially phase into the fade where poisons of the mortal world could not touch him.  When becoming one with the templar, Justice had cleansed his mortal body of the shaking sickness which he had inherited through his blood and from the toxic dependency which he’d developed on lyrium dust.  It perturbed him that Cullen would deliberately put such things into himself which obviously were not needed.  All templar abilities were fully functional without it, and if he wanted a bridge to the fade, Justice was already providing it.  If the mortal had not the sense to do what was best for them, then Justice would do it for them.  
  
A gurgle choked in Cullen’s throat as he collapsed to his knees, gagging and rejecting the lyrium which Justice was frantically trying to keep out of the blood, heart, lungs, and brain.  Nearly retching, Cullen clutched at his throat, and caught the attention of Bethany from the next room.  For a moment, she was frozen in the doorway, round eyed at the spectacle of the Knight-Commander having turned nearly transparent.  Hitching up the hem of her robe, she flew to his side, pulling onto healing magic as she cast a basic creation spell on him.  
  
“N-no,” Cullen coughed, shuffling a half step away from her.  “No magic.”  His hands.  He could see the floor through them.  They responded when he closed a fist, and he could touch everything as if it was normal, but by Andraste’s grace, nothing was normal!  The last thing he wanted was magic applied to him, even if it was beneficial and well meant.  
  
 _Trust me,_ Justice begged in his mind, _this will make you whole.  You do not need the poison in your body.  I mean you no harm._  
  
A mental portcullis smashed down in front of the spirit, blocking him out with the same intense tenacity which had once allowed Cullen to survive torture.  With a dull burst of energy, the spirit despondently retreated back into a small space of the Knight-Commander’s mind.  
  
“Cullen!”  Bethany put her hand onto his arm as if to assist him to his feet, but he shook it aside when he phased back into a completely solid form.  “What happened to you?  It was like the fade was opened.”  She glued the tip of her tongue against the inside of her teeth, remembering something very similar with Anders and Karl.  That had been Justice, then, cracking violently out of Anders because of distress.  This hadn’t been the same at all, but the residue of the fade lingered like curling smoke from an extinguished lamp.  
  
“I-I don’t know.”  It was infrequent that his speech impediment surfaced any longer, but Cullen found himself stumbling over his words as they were thick and clumsy on his tongue.  “I think – I think I may have had a bad dose of lyrium or – or a bad reaction to it.”  
  
“I felt the fade,” she broached again carefully as he wobbled upright, borrowing the corner of the table to steady himself.  “I’ve never seen or heard of lyrium doing that before.”  Cullen had never been unreasonable or harsh with the mages in comparison to what some of them had been in Kirkwall, but she didn’t want to risk angering any templar.  
  
“Lyrium connects templars and mages alike to the fade.”  His vocabulary was coalescing again and he poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher on his desk.  It was the only explanation which he could rationally formulate, but the niggling thoughts which were not his own, now linked to the bizarre event of becoming a living ghost made him wonder unpleasantly.  He’d accused mages of harboring demons and being unaware of it times enough.  Was it possible he, himself, had somehow become infected?  He was no mage, but any templar was well versed in how they could take animals and the dead.  Werewolves came from rage demons infecting wolves and humans, according to Circle library lore.  Wilhelm had become an Abomination.  Was it possible that he had been possessed, and harbored a demon within himself without knowing it?  If so, how did he banish it, short of having someone decapitate him?  He wouldn’t shrink from such a duty if that was the only way, but he needed a mage who he could confide in.  
  
Turning to Bethany, his lips parted, then closed again when he realized how deeply his mistrust of those who were powerful because of magic ran.  Bethany was Hawke’s sister, but she was a mage.  Even a strong willed one who he had a basic working comradery wasn’t enough.  He couldn’t allow her that much access to his mind or body.  
  
 _I am no demon!_ Justice railed indignantly, but his ire was lain over with a curtain of ice.  If he did not control himself, he might drive the mortal to self harm, even suicide.  What had he done? He had only meant to help the man who had called to him in a way which wasn’t conscious, reaching out with a sense of decency and justice with the spirit longed to share.  Justice hadn’t wanted to die, and Cullen had been ill.  It had seemed perfect, but now he might have complicated the mortal’s existence so badly, he did not want to live with the two of them sharing life to mutual benefit.  The Commander, Justice pleaded with silent desperation, scrounging up Cullen’s memories of her on the other side of the cage.  Trust the Comm — you can trust Audrie.  
  
Wiping the sweat from his face, Cullen turned to Bethany.  “I need to send a missive to the Chantry immediately to replace the current supply of lyrium.  If any of the templars here have taken it, I need to speak to them and make certain they haven’t suffered any negative effect.”  Managing to soften his crisp professionalism to polite friendliness, he added, “thank you, but I’m fine.  If anything else happens, I’ll call you or one of the healers.”  
  
She wasn’t dismissed so easily, and looked as if she wanted to argue because that obviously wasn’t the answer.  She didn’t know what had happened, but it wasn’t from lyrium.  Not willing to budge, Cullen took a sheet of parchment from the stack and waited patiently for Bethany to leave the room before he made certain his hand was steady.  Could he actually expect Audrie to come all the way from Denerim, Amaranthine, or wherever she was because he asked?  She was Ferelden’s hero, and he doubted her fame had waned in nine years.  There was a statue of Sparrow Hawke in Kirkwall, so he could only imagine how things were in his home country for the person who stopped a Blight.  It wasn’t a particularly long sea voyage, but it would take time from her schedule.  The Free Marches weren’t the safest place for mages.  That thought was almost ludicrous when he mentally ticked off a list of her deeds in his head.  Any templar who tried to take her into custody was not likely to come out a winner.  They could cleanse mana and smite a mage, but she’d fought against templars before for…  It was in…  Cullen blinked, catching more images of Amaranthine and templars.  One was a woman who he didn’t recognize her, but … had Audrie killed her?  No.  Surely she would not… wouldn’t she?  What was she capable of now that she wasn’t officially part of the Circle any longer?  
  
It had to be self defense or for a very good reason.  Justice shoved his opinion against the mental wall in Cullen’s mind.  They needed help, and like everything else in mortal existence, Cullen had become complicated.  When the tip of the quill touched the face of the parchment Justice allowed himself a small measure of relief.  Audrie had answered him once, and he knew the Commander.  She would come to them in a time of need, no matter what the risk.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warden Audrie Amell, Cullen and Justice are reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a few intentional liberties with who got Pounce, when, and how. The relationship with Alistair is crowned as king, rules solo, and the Warden is his mistress.

“He was that templar at the Tower, wasn’t he?” Alistair made the question casual and took one of her robes from a drawer.  “The one during the Blight?”  She shook her head, and he looked down at the clothing in his hand, realizing his mistake.  He traded it for better traveling clothes, which she’d started wearing as often as not during the Blight.  She took the long tunic from him and started folding it so she wouldn’t immediately be recognized for a mage.  
  
“Who? Cullen?”  She unwrapped her light pack, gave up on neatness, and stuffed her apparel into a corner next to her smalls.  That was nearly magic because the bottom was round.  “The one who was tortured at Kinloch Hold?  That was him.”  She crammed a belt to one side and tried to rearrange for more room.  Logically, she knew the pack wasn’t going to grow, but somehow she could usually make room an extra pair of socks.  ”We saved him.  I’m sure you remember that awful cage.”  Her reaction had been memorable, too, but she didn’t care to go down that path again.  Instead, she picked the tabby cat around the middle who was trying to curl up in the middle of her clothes.  “Pounce,” she sighed scratching him indulgently under the chin until he purred with satisfaction.  ”I can’t take you with me.  You and Chomps have to stay here.”  Had she known Anders was actually in Kirkwall, she would have made the trip to give him his beloved pet back.  The tom had indignantly sprayed everything for the first six months to show his displeasure, and her mabari had chased him.  Furniture was overturned, things broke, and she scrubbed carpets on her hands and knees until Pounce should have been grateful she loved animals too much to do the tabby terror harm.  
  
The poor creature cried for weeks, looking for Anders, and for awhile, Audrie had tried to locate the other mage, herself.  Dead templars who had tried to infiltrate in her convenient absence and his evicted pet both made her suspicious.  She never found where he had gone, but he was dead now, according to Cullen.  That never failed to depress her, and she wished things were as simple for her as they had been for the cat who she thrust into Alistair’s arms.  
  
Anders’ disappearance also left so many gaping questions which had only recently began to fall into place, and she went back to talking to the king as he tried to find a place to park the cat.  ”I’ve been writing to Cullen a little, trying to find out if it really was Anders who blew up the Chantry.”  The Wardens were already throwing she and Alistair onto a grill and flipping them over about surviving the Archdemon.  What would be next when it got out, which she knew it eventually would, that Anders was a Grey Warden?  Alistair was saying something to her, and she realized she had missed half of it.  Pushing her mane of blond hair out of her face, she had to ask him to repeat it.  ”Sorry, what?”  
  
“I said he was the one who said he was,” Alistair hesitated put his hands on her hips to guarantee her attention, “infatuated with you.”  
  
Giggling, Audrie ran her fingers through his full beard and kissed him on the end of the nose.  ”You aren’t jealous are you?”  
  
“Maybe a little.  That doesn’t stop it from being a valid question.  It was a long time ago.”  He sounded so completely convincing, that he was sure she wouldn’t see right through him.  
  
She saw right through him, and giggled softly.  ”He was a friend, and I guess he still is.  He was assigned to watch over me at the Tower when I was an apprentice, so we practically spent most our life together for a few years.  Had he and I not been a mage and templar and a pair of farmers somewhere we might have different.  It might have been more like you and me.  Minus the darkspawn, Blight, Archdemon, assassins, bandits.  Bad cooking.”  Watching his eyes warm with his smile she leaned up and kissed him in earnest on the lips.  ”Things didn’t work out like that, and I love you.  There’s no room for anyone else, and there never will be.  You’re my closest friend, I trust you with my life, and you’re part of my soul.  You, Alistair Theirin, are stuck with me.”  
  
“Good to know.”  Pulling her in closer to him, he got a lot more frisky with the kiss, and hands started wandering until they had to break off to let Audrie finish her packing.  ”Don’t be gone too long, Love,” he told her softly, and didn’t bother denying he was a little worried.  She was a mage, and Kirkwall wasn’t the friendliest place for them after the business with the Chantry.  
  
“I took down an archdemon.  This isn’t anything spectacular.  I’ll take ship, say hello, then come home.  I’ll be back soon, I promise.”  Poking him in the ribs mischievously, she wanted to know, “are you going to give me a proper send off since we won’t be seeing each other for awhile?”  
  
Comfort and companionability had come with time, so he scooped her up into his arms with a smirk.  ”Your desire is my command,” he assured her, and plopped her into their bed.  One pillow fight and a many less clothes later, she curled up beside him and slept soundly until it was time to depart.  
  
~^v^~  
  
Nine years wasn’t a long time compared to the bulk of their lives, but it could have been an eternity since Cullen’s eyes set on Audrie Amell.  She came off the ship dressed in traveling clothes which he might have mistaken for barbarian or Dalish at first glance.  There were clean furs involved and intricate leather patterns, but nothing which would have signaled to the outside world that she was a mage.  Maturity had changed both of them, but the girlish confidence he remembered of an apprentice biting her upper lip when she tried to cast a spell had grown into a woman’s assurance of her place in the world.  Her hair was longer and fluffed out from the sea, full of salt, sun, and air.  He’d forgotten how beautiful she was, but dropped the thought before it was allowed to come up to the surface.  However much she might have altered, there was one thing which had not.  She was a mage, and he remained a templar.  Being a Grey Warden would never change what either of them were, but when she turned her slanted green eyes his direction, he had to deliberately kill part of himself which had boyish fantasies about her long ago.  
  
Audrie waved at him, recognizing a face which was part of her routine endlessly for years.  He hadn’t changed much, although his skin was bronzed and hair lighter from exposure to the sun.  There were lines etched around his eyes and mouth where he’d weathered torture and hard patches in his life, but she found herself brimming over with happier, simple memories of a home which was now gone.  She wouldn’t have ever wanted to return to the Tower once she had learned to knock hurlock heads off as a bear, fly as a hawk. and sprint through the tall grass as a fox.  Yet, Cullen had been kind to her, and as strict as Greagoir could be, she was never particularly bullied and certainly never tortured by any of them.  Her life was caged, but it had been a comfortable and gilded one which she sorely missed when Duncan took her away.  Mages like Anders dreamed of freedom as they stared through the high windows of Kinloch Hold, but when she’d done that, she didn’t know what the real world would be like once she was in it. Every noise nearly made her wet herself in the dead of night, she had no skills to survive on the land, and exploding fish had not prepared her for Darkspawn.  Alistair had been deeply depressed after Ostagar, but she literally couldn’t have survived without him.  
  
She had never wanted leadership, but her fellow Warden had been too twisted inside with his own grief in the early days.  He’d shaped into a fine king and self confident man who she had fallen in love with.  Looking back, she had to admit, he almost reminded her a little bit of Cullen.    ”So,” she asked him awkwardly, “I suppose you still hate fish?”  
  
The Knight-Commander couldn’t keep a straight face, and she managed a laugh out of him.  Justice joined in that merriment, relaxing and overjoyed to see his first friend again, as well. “As a matter of fact, yes, I do.”  
  
“You think the fish were bad, you should have seen what I did to Darkspawn,” she muttered quietly and hopped up to him, hugging him around the neck with gleeful enthusiasm.  He stiffened like ancient, dry shoe leather, then relaxed and tried to decide where to put his hands which would be within the bounds of propriety.  ”Maker’s breath, it’s good to see you.”  By the time her hug victim worked out where it was safe to rest a gauntlet, she’d let go of him and shifted her light pack up on her shoulder.  ”So, you asked me here?”  
  
“Do you mind staying with us?”  He began escorting her out of unconscious habit, scanning the crowds for signs of trouble, and falling into step should he need to protect her.  
  
“Cullen.”  Audrie rolled her eyes affectionately, but when he looked over his shoulder at her, she saw everything from their past.  Had it been Alistair she could have teased and they would have laughed.  Cullen didn’t have the playful, occasionally cynical smirk which had what endeared her to Alistair.  Instead of saying what was on the tip of her tongue, she answered his question.  “That would be fine.  I don’t need much space.”  It was going to be strange being in a room with of people again other than her lover.  She’d gotten used to the privacy and comparative quiet of the palace, but she was a survivor who went with the flows and changes of the world.  Sharing a room with other mages was one of the least problems she could imagine having. “Did you tell anyone else I was coming or who I was?”  She would have preferred to avoid a lot of attention, particularly around the Free Marches with everything which was happening.  
  
“No, only that I would have an old friend visiting us from Ferelden.”  The first time he had seen her, he knew she didn’t fit in, but she had told him she would help the beleaguered people who had been trapped by the…  Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, reminding himself firmly the first time he had met Audrie was when Greagoir introduced them.  ”I’ll explain when we get there.”  Cullen didn’t carry any more of the conversation until they arrived at Hawke’s estate, and he found a room for her which wasn’t over crowded.  She was much more comfortable around people then he remembered, and he closed the door to his small, makeshift office to keep even well meaning people like Keran or Bethany from checking on him.  “S-something is happening to me,” he blurted out, nearly nipping the end of his own tongue for stammering.  ”You’re a mage, and I trust you.  I couldn’t — I couldn’t put this into a letter, but I think I may have a demon–“  
  
Cullen’s eyes hazed over in a faint blue light and shimmered, setting Audrie back a step.  “Who’re you?” she demanded cautiously, wishing she had a staff to keep her fingers busy and look more imposing.  She never looked frightening.  That was helpful at some times because nobody ever looked at the scrawny, confused, blonde bundle of robe and bones and thought “Grey Warden: Slayer of Old Gods.”  There were other times it would have been a lot more useful to be seven feet tall and shooting lighting bolts out of her eyes the way Nathaniel accused the first time they ran into each other.  
  
“Audrie,” Justice reached toward her with Cullen’s hands, pleading, and working the muscles in the Knight-Commander’s face into what he hoped was entreatment.  “I knew you would come to us.  I am no demon!”  
  
“Wait…”  Audrie gawked and thought her jaw might hit her chest.  The voice was influenced by Cullen’s pitch, but it was familiar.  There was only one person who ever sounded exactly like that, and she could never forget it.  “Justice?”  It wasn’t possible.  Out of all the people in Thedas, how could her friend from the Black Marsh end up within another person from her early life?  
  
“Yes.  You once said you were my friend, when I had never had one before.  I knew not what a friend was, but you taught me the meaning.  Now I am once again trapped in a mortal body, in this world, but he fears all spirits.  He fights me, even when I could greatly help him.”  
  
“Oh Justice.”  For the second time in an hour, she put her arms around Cullen’s neck and hugged him.  He smelled different when Justice was in control, like lyrium, dust, and sunshine.  She felt a trickle of the fade seep out and tingle the roots of her hair.  “What happened to you?  When we found Kristoff’s body and the templars, I thought they’d killed you.  I searched in the Fade during my dreams in hope you might come around looking for us.”  
  
Ironically, Justice seemed to be more comfortable returning a hug from the memories he had shared with Kristoff and Anders.  He did not understand the meaning of it, but it seemed to please mortals, particularly Audrie.  “You were called away,” the spirit bristled as he stood stiffly.  He gestured in the uncertain way which was a mimicry of what he recalled from his host and imitated the things which he saw humans do around him.  “The templars came for Anders, but it was not only for him.  The escapes from the Circle and the disappearance of Ryland were all suspicions which they traced back to him, hunting him, but…”  Justice once would have angrily been prepared to lash out against the oppressors who had unjustly imprisoned the mages.  His attitude had not altered, but being within Cullen had forced a second side of the situation to be shown to him, particularly when the mage’s head and hands had been delivered to Hawke estate.  
  
There was injustice which was cruel and violent which he sought to remedy, but not every templar was as foul nor every mage wholesome.  The duality of mortals had always confounded him.  They were so complicated, but it was beginning to effect him, as well.  Audrie did not press him to finish his thought, as she never did, merely gently puzzled as he worked an idea out for himself.  Even Cullen agreed that there were templars who were unjust and corrupted.  Those who had come to the Wardens and attacked Anders were such men. “There were rumors about Kristoff’s body and Velanna being an ‘elf witch.’  They wanted all of us, and Anders allowed me a new place to exist.  I let Kristoff’s body go, and Anders took me inside of himself voluntarily.  We…”  He did not know much about human reactions but the way Audrie slapped a hand over her mouth and turned pale with horror was something he was certain meant she understood what he and Anders had done.  “We … became one.  It was not like this man, Cullen.  Where I ended and Anders started was impossible to see. There were times I could come out, but I do not know what I became.  I have been unjust, and the greater good was served to strike a blow for all mages – like you – and Anders.  My friends. My friends who would have been locked up or taken to be made Tranquil!”  That required an explanation of Karl and how deeply it had cut bleeding furrows into Anders’ soul.  “Anders was going to ask you for help, but you were ordered away.  They threatened us both, and were going to force him back to the Circle to stand for the crime of murdering Rylock.”  
  
“But he didn’t–“ Audrie gulped as she closed her eyes hard to keep her emotions in check.  “That was me.”  It was self defense, too, every last bit of it because she was there for one reason only.  Darkspawn killed the templars in the tower.  They’d overpowered the Orlesian Grey Wardens who were battle trained and hardened against the spawn, able to sense them.  What hope did templars have, no matter if they were fine warriors?  She’d believed Anders when she first set eyes on him.  He’d killed a hurlock, but the templars and the darkspawn had killed each other.  What fool couldn’t tell Anders didn’t decapitate or run his victims through?  He was a mage, and yet they would have hanged him for all the obvious fact there were darkspawn swords dripping with blood, matching the mutilated humans.  The only thing burned to death was a hurlock, and if he was trying to run, Audrie didn’t blame him.  Sane people did that around Darkspawn, no matter how brave they were or thought they might be.  Alistair was right.  It was unforgettable, but Rylock was on a crusade for Anders’ head.  She’d lain a trap which Audrie suspected might or might not have been sanctioned by Greagoir.  
  
“I know,” Justice agreed darkly, “but the ones who came were the same kind as Rylock, and not like this man Cullen.  Hawke killed Anders, and I was freed.  I think I was dying, or as close as I can be in your mortal way.  I could not get back into the fade, but this mortal was a good man.  He was very sick, and he called to me.  I went to him, and to his body, repairing it of the shaking sickness.”  
  
“Cullen was sick?”  That was an odd thing to think of the robust, ever healthy templar who she had always known, but Justice did not lie.  She wasn’t sure he was capable of it.  The spirit evidently cured him of an inherited disease which would have slowly and painfully degraded his body at a young age.  It was the spirits who connected with some healers and taught mages who excelled in the art, so it all made a convoluted sort of sense.  
  
Justice explained the process as quickly as he could, because Cullen was tiring.  “This mortal would call us an abomination,” he lamented as he reached toward Audrie as if asking for an answer.  “I cannot leave him.  I do not know how, or if it is even possible.  Can you help us?”  
  
“I’ll try, Justice,” she promised him and brushed her thumb across Cullen’s cheek, doing it for the spirit inside who was in control.  “If he’s getting tired, you’d best let him back in the forefront, but I swear, Justice.  I’ll try and help you both through this, somehow.”  The expression of almost innocent relief was all from the spirit, and fit oddly on the templar’s face as the blue light receded and the Knight Commander returned to consciousness.  
  
He was so fatigued suddenly, as if he had been marching or drilling a full day in armor beneath hot sun.  Cullen shook it off without mentioning it to Audrie.  “I haven’t been myself lately.”  
  
That was one way of putting it.  “Cullen, I think we need to talk,” Audrie told him carefully, “because I found out your problem.”


	8. Chapter 8

Audrie stood her ground in front of Cullen, feet firmly planted, locking her eyes with his. He didn’t like what she had told tell him, even if it was the truth, but that was expected. Lying to him would have solved nothing. She hadn’t seen him in many years, but recognized someone who wanted to intimidate her when she saw it. He was cold, detached, and the brutal, distant gaze made her know she was looking at a man who could behead an apprentice if he thought they’d turn. There had been a question of that at one time, but not any longer. Both of them had changed. Cullen had been her friend once, but he’d become purely templar, making him dangerous. Fortunately, she had looked into the face of things which would turn blood to river ice, experienced dreams which flayed open a nights rest, and stared into the maw of an old god risen in the form of a dragon. The only thing which scared her about Cullen was the fact he might lose control and she’d have to defend herself. There were many ugly but potent truths Audrie learned about herself during the Blight. She was a survivor. That meant she defended herself and those dear to her with the ferocity of a she wolf, and would rip the throat out of anyone who did them harm. Cullen, ironically, had taught her that lesson when she saw him languishing Uldred’s cage. In his agony, he had been savage toward all mages, but it hadn’t mattered to her. She would have gutted Uldred from groin to eyes for what he’d done to the once gentle templar.

It wasn’t far from what she had ultimately done to him, with the help of Alistair and the others. She was alone and had no delusions Cullen could rob her of magic, leave her helpless, even stunned. One of the side benefits to working with Alistair was knowing the limitations of that particular ability, and she put herself well across the room, out of his range. There was an invisible line drawn on the floor, and she folded her arms, starting across it.

“That isn’t possible,” Cullen declared viciously, aware of what she was doing. He didn’t mean to harm her, and kept his distance. “I was strong enough to resist all the temptations of demons in the Tower, and I would resist them now!”

“Justice,” Audrie argued without giving ground, “isn’t a demon. I explained that to you. He’s a spirit of Justice. He’s honor, decency, and justice.” Evidently there were other sides to Justice, but Maker help them all, she had to keep the positive in the front for Cullen’s sake. Earlier in their argument he’d already began railing at her about Abominations, making Justice twitchy. “He sought you out because you stand for the things which he embodies. His case is very unique, and he was trapped outside the Fade. It was a pride demon abomination … thing…” How did one begin to explain the Baroness? The Knight-Commander gave her a chilly glare. “I’m a mage, Cullen, that doesn’t mean I know everything. She started out human, but was mostly a Pride Demon by the time I found her. Justice fought her for I don’t know how many decades -- maybe centuries -- in the Fade. He was one, lone spirit against a Pride demon for the sake of trying to help a town full of innocent people who were being abused by their lord for blood magic rituals. You know as well as I do that there are demons and there are other spirits. Only mages can meet them, but you know they’re around. We read the same books back at the Tower and sat in the same lectures. Weren’t you paying attention?” Making a half hearted reach toward him, she closed some of the distance, and mentioned their past deliberately. Another ugly truth which she’d discovered was her intuitive empathy and how it could be useful to manipulate people. Only conscience kept her from abusing it, but she was genuinely trying to help Cullen. He and Justice both needed it, and she watched the templar thaw marginally. “I know you’re strong, Cullen, Maker knows you are. You’re strong in your faith and in discipline. You always have been.” Tentatively, she touched his wrist, expecting him to flinch or pull back. He did neither one, but she wanted a physical connection between them. “Cullen, you said we were friends. Listen to me, my oldest friend. Please. Justice is good, and he is my friend too. Cullen, he’s not a demon, but he needs you. If you let him, he’ll even help you against malificar and things which are unjust in this world. He’s good,” she repeated, staring up into the eyes which were closer to the color of Alistair’s than she’d remembered.

Looking down where she was touching him, Cullen noted it, then considered her words. The only indication he gave of relenting was the brush of his fingertips against the outside of her hand. “Is there no way of removing … him?”

“No. He can’t survive outside of the Fade, but he wants to be your partner, not conquer or dominate you. Cullen, he wants to be your friend, not your enemy. He’d never try to take control over you.” With the exception of begging for help or protecting Cullen, but she wasn’t going to toss that in front of him, or the argument would start over again. “Justice will give you the ability to keep harmful magic from hurting you. He can bridge the gap between you and the Fade. It’s not what a mage does, but I saw it with Kristoff. He’s particularly lethal against demons, and the two of you could do a lot of good. An abomination is a demon who devours someone or something from the inside. I should know, I wanted you to cut my head off so I didn’t become one if I failed my Harrowing.” Some people took that much worse, but she’d been grateful that he would have ended the thing which would have taken her body. In her mind, it was the ultimate sacrifice of trust and friendship.

Cullen paced methodically for long minutes, and Audrie sat down in his chair, tucking her legs under her like a cat to patiently wait for him. For Justice’s sake, she hoped he was getting through to the Knight-Commander, but wouldn’t hurry the process. Cullen was always analytical and serious when she knew him, with a head for strategy and logic. He’d conquered his own anger, so would need some space to work out the rest.

“If the Order ever finds out about this, they won’t be so considerate. I’ll be branded an Abomination and killed. It’s what I would do if I heard of something like this.” He should turn himself over to the Chantry for judgement and execution to be rid of both himself and the spirit. Audrie made a convincing case against that action, and he guiltily admitted to himself he wasn’t ready to die. There were mages who needed his protection, and Hawke couldn’t do all of it alone.

“The Grey Wardens could always use you,” she joked and rose to face him as he stopped pacing. “Cullen,” she insisted gently, “no one has to know. With Justice, you’ll always have a friend who will care about protecting people who need it. He’ll have your back and with some practice, you can learn to communicate with him.” Wynne’s spirit was oddly silent, and it made her wonder how many more possessed people were walking around and nobody knew it.

Cullen was obstinately reluctant, but was never one to shrink back from any reality, no matter how uncomfortable or horrible. “How-how do I speak to him?”

“The easiest time will be in your dreams, and you’ll never have nightmares again.” It was a tiny spark, but she caught something in his eye which made her know he’d been sleeping better since Justice arrived. “He’s right there, seeing what you do, and hearing what you say. He’s been there for awhile, and I think it’s safe to say all those things you’ve been doing for the mages and protecting them? It’s pleased him.”

“The memories.” Something fell into place like a children’s puzzle. “That’s him, isn’t it? The woman who-who – Kristoff was married? Was he a mage?”

“Kristoff was married, yes, but he wasn’t the mage you’re seeing. Kristoff was an Orlesian Grey Warden and the brain in his dead body left behind memories which Justice saw. The mage was the person before you and after Kristoff.”

“The templars who took him were cruel,” Cullen commented softly, “more than they needed to be.”

“I was lucky,” she told him, matching his tone. “I had you, Irving and Greagoir to look after me. None of you ever hurt me, and you’re my friend.”

“We were furious with you after Jowan,” he reminded her bluntly, then the angry, etched lines around his mouth relaxed. “The Maker meant for it to happen.” There could not and would not ever be mercy for Malificar, but in his time of rest and meditation he’d come to terms with the possibility that the Maker moved in ways which baffled men. “You saved us all from the Blight.”

“Me, Alistair, and some others.” She shrugged modestly, not wanting to dwell on the past. “Then Justice helped me finish the dregs which could have been nearly as bad. Ask him about that, and he’ll tell you.”

Another long pause drew out between them as Cullen rubbed the rough stubble under his nose, pondering everything she’d told him, processing it, and deciding what he ultimately wanted to do. “I’m not going mad.” It was a statement, not given to her as a question, but she answered it anyway.

“No. You’re not going mad, Cullen.” She could at least put that concern to rest, but it begged the question. “What are you going to do now?”

He rubbed his fingertips across his eyebrows before he came to a definite, reluctant conclusion. Something, evidently Justice, rebelled at the idea of calling themselves an abomination. It wasn’t as harmless as she made it sound, but if he turned himself over to the Chantry, as he should have, who was going to help the people here? If he ever thought for even a portion of a second that Justice was not the beneficial creature Audrie was suggesting, he’d make sure Keran or someone in authority put an end to all of it. “I’m going to meet this Justice. It appears we’re going to be together for a long time, and I want to know if he’s really what you say he is. Audrie, I-I hope you’re right about this.”

On impulse, Audrie hugged them again. “I am, Cullen.” She hoped to the Maker that was true because Anders may have started a war. She needed to get back home before someone found her out, and the long reaching ripples hit Ferelden. “Look after each other. You’re good people.”

That time, Cullen awkwardly returned the hug, but it was Justice’s robust, ethereal voice which answered her. “I will protect this mortal,” the spirit promised near her ear. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” What else was there to say? Cullen and Justice had along path ahead of them, but she believed the two of them would help one another. It didn’t feel like the last time she would see them, but she hoped they would be alright.


End file.
